Deluminate
by Frankie Beckett
Summary: One is broken, one is a traitor, and one is just trying to save someone loved by apparently everyone. After a rescue attempt gone wrong, how can three girls hope to conquer time and space to get back home?
1. Chapter 1

December 14th, 1944:

Tom sat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, watching the staff at the head table laugh over their dinner – particularly Dumbledore, who was attempting to make Headmaster Dippet laugh about something or other. No doubt the Christmas festivities had gotten to them, or someone had slipped a nip of brandy into their drinks so they could begin relaxing at the coming break.

At least during this break Tom was allowed to stay within the castle walls and was not forced back to that silly orphanage he once called home, and this being his final year at Hogwarts, he had several plans he needed completed before the year was out. Dropping his eyes to his dinner, Tom picked up his fork and speared a potato, mulling over which task he should set his followers with next as he chewed.

"Abraxas, I'm telling you she was in a right state by the time I left her." Pollux Black said, "Could barely even sit up let alone stand."

"And yet, she's ignoring the fact that you even exist." Malfoy sneered, "She should be all over you if you're apparently that good in bed."

Tom tuned out, hearing them bicker over who was better with women every night over dinner became tiresome after a while, and anyway, he had bigger things to worry about. After killing Myrtle last year, and his filthy muggle father and grandparents over the summer, Tom knew he had to keep his composure whilst at school this year – he'd heard about the Slub Club, after all, and had every reason to commit to staying on Slughorn's good side for nothing if not information.

"- She did it with her tongue, I swear that girl could kill a man with it." Rosier bragged, closing his eyes in exultation as he finished speaking. Macnair leaned forward.

"Yeah? Well I heard Addelstone can get her legs right up behind her hea–" A shrill scream filled the Great Hall and grew louder to the point where most people, including teachers, could only cover their ears with their hands and completely forget their magic. A crack appeared in the ceiling of the room, cutting across all four house tables, wrinkling and tearing at the illusion of the night sky, several candles dropping a great distance from where they were originally floating. The scream, which Tom realised sounded like something between a girl's voice and a train's whistle long overused and in need of replacement, abruptly cut off, allowing students to lift their heads to show slight traces of terror on their faces. It was quite comical to watch really, until a small piece of rubble fell from the ceiling towards the floor, and upon impact, blinded the Great Hall in white light. Those who had already lifted their faces after the attack on their eardrums slammed their eyes shut and ducked their heads again, afraid of what might happen this time, and for how long. Others simply covered their faces with their hands and prayed to Merlin whatever came of this wouldn't hurt them.

"For fuck sakes Tori. Get up." A girl said loudly, the first indication to the students and teachers occupying the Great Hall that all was well, or at least, not the end of the world. Tom slowly lowered his hands and squinted, spotting two girls, one standing on the Hufflepuff table, the other on the Gryffindor table, and a third girl sitting on the floor in between them.

They weren't just any girls, though.

They hardly even looked like girls, to be honest, or passable human beings, if one wanted to be brutal about it. The girl standing on the Hufflepuff table was looking at the one on the floor, suggesting she was the one who had spoken. Her hair was cut short, falling in a severe, straight black bob, making no attempt to hide the two deep gashes that ran parallel to each other from the outer corner underneath her left eye, across her cheek, and under her small nose before ripping into her top lip. It was fresh, dripping blood into her mouth and coating her front teeth in its bright red ferocity. Her dark green coat fell to her knees, still slightly showing the fact that she favoured her left foot over her right as she stood in tightly laced brown boots. Tom raised his eyebrows slightly as he lifted his eyes from her right foot to her hand and noticed her fourth finger was missing entirely.

"Don't touch me." The girl on the floor hissed, as a seventh year Gryffindor, Stuart Maplee, if Tom was correct, went to help her up. Tori shuffled onto her knees and placed a hand on the ground in front of her, pushing up so she could stand with her head held high.

Pureblood, Tom thought immediately, not defiance, or haughtiness, she simply moved with that superior air of how she'd been raised.

He kept his eyes trained on Tori, although he could hear the other two walking along the tables, knocking cups over and scattering silverware until they found room to jump down to the floor. He was also acutely aware of Dippet having made his way around the staff table so he could stand in front of where the girls could meet him. Tori glanced at the girl who had barked at her and began to walk forward to meet them both, her black robes ripped open and barely hanging onto her shoulders, an entire pant leg torn away, and her left arm strapped tightly to her chest in a sling. Of course, these were only minute details when you noticed great chunks of her pale blonde hair missing, some clinging down the back of her robes, and her bare leg covered in welts, mottled in various shades of pink, white and purple, right from where her skin started at her sock to where it disappeared into what was left of her trousers.

Tom heard students gasp as the girls passed them, a faint dragging sound, like metal on stone, adding to the whispers that were starting to fill the Great Hall. He only turned his eyes to the last member of the arrivals as they reached Dippet, and she was, by far, the worst.

"Headmaster Dippet, we mean no harm to you, or any student here at Hogwarts." The first girl stated, her voice clear and succinct as the whispers began to fade so students could hear.

Tom ignored them, the girl was wearing what could have once been grey clothing if it had actually fit her; she was so malnourished.

"I'm quite pleased to hear that, my dear, although, I do wonder how you managed to appear within our walls."

"We had previous permission given to us."

Not only did her clothes not fit her, he realised as she turned slightly to survey the Great Hall, but the back of her shirt was missing. He wished it into existence for her decency, and so that he would not have to bear witness to what had become of her back. It looked like her back had simply become a river of red, cascading blood that coursed down and soaked into the fabric of her thin trousers.

Lashings. Vicious, violent lashings. Excitement rippled through him.

"Professor, I promise Arianna allowed us to do this."

The Great Hall's silence deepened at her admission as Dumbledore scraped his chair along the floor in an effort to stand up. He eyed each girl individually before inclining his head.

"Ladies, may we continue this conversation in my office?" He murmured, stepping away from his seat and past them as they nodded. Dippet made to match each of Dumbledore's long strides as they moved towards the doors leading out of the Great Hall.

As the three girls turned to follow, the last girl stopped midstride, her bloodshot eyes continued to sweep the Great Hall, more specifically the Slytherin Table, before locking on Tom's brooding face. The metal on stone sound stopped, too.

"Hermione." The first girl called, lifting her right arm to double check that the silver, ruby encrusted sword was still secure on her back, "I've seen it."

Only then did Hermione begin to move forward, reaching a hand up to the collar of her shirt. The other hand drooped by her side, hanging heavy from the weight of a dark grey shackle. As she passed Tom she pulled down the collar of her shirt and lifted her chin enough for him to glimpse dark, sinister bruising around her neck, great fingers of coagulated blood which wrapped around several times, each crossing over each other. It was as she was walking through the doors that she broke eye contact with him, allowing him one final look at the matted hair on the back of her head.

Lets add this to the list of things he needed to fulfill this year then, shall we?

How he loved secrets.


	2. Something Most Unusual

The three girls followed Dippet and Dumbledore to the latter's office, presumably because the men thought the trio simply wouldn't be able to make the trip up to the headmaster's office. The pace was slow, one limping, another a semi blubbering mess and the last taking in every minute detail about the past, yet unchanged, castle to remember later if needed.

Dumbledore was situated on the fourth floor, close to the transfiguration classrooms and directly underneath the Gryffindor common room three stories above.

"Ladies, please take a seat." Dumbledore offered, as he conjured a plush armchair for Dippet to lean into, "May I offer tea? A lemon drop, perhaps?"

Two of the three girls remained standing, while all refused tea – it all still seemed too calm, too perfect to leisurely sink into supposed safety.

"Again, we mean no harm."

"Yes, I do recall you mentioning that. Thank you for the reassurance."

"But what we are about to tell you is quite alarming. We can't reveal too much, or our being here could unravel time. Although, I do believe that is why we are here in the first place."

Dumbledore stared at the girl, her black hair beginning to stick to her forehead from the gathering of sweat even though it was mid December and frightfully cold within the castle. The sickly blood coating her teeth was starting to drip down her chin now, and while it did not give the old man cause to be frightened, it did make him wary.

"Might I enquire your names?" He asked softly, leaning back into his chair behind the mahogany desk.

"Cho Chang, Pureblood." She replied, looking down at the girl in the chair.

"Astoria Greengrass, Pureblood." She continued on, glancing back at Cho and then towards Dippet to gauge his reaction before gesturing to the last of them, "This is Hermione Granger, Mudblood."

Dippet raised a hand to slightly cover his mouth as he coughed out a choking sound, peering at Astoria and then Hermione, noting the states in which they stood in front of him. Dumbledore drew a deep breath.

"Miss Greengrass, such language is not tolerated here. I would ask that you refrain from using that term, and only use Muggle-born when, or even if in fact, her blood status is necessary at all."

"I apologise professor. It's required at home and punishable by an unforgivable if we do not supply the information." Astoria said quietly, shifting uncomfortable in the chair under his watchful eyes.

"What information is necessary though, is that we do not particularly know how we arrived at this particular place or time," Cho confirmed, stepping forward to stand next to Astoria who remained seated. She folded her arms, planting her feet wide apart on the stone floor as if needing a wider base of support. "We understand that Hogwarts wards are impenetrable, and none of us have ever travelled through time besides Hermione, when she had obtained a time-turner. We don't even know how long we are meant to be here for, what we are meant to do, and in all honesty I think I can speak for all three of us when I say we would rather be at home, helping."

"Helping what, exactly?" Dippet asked, the first time he had spoken in the entire conversation.

"The war." Astoria replied.

"We are from a time where a psychopathic leader is attempting to revolutionise magical Britain so that Purebloods are the leaders and superior to those who are half-blood or mud-muggleborn. The word Muggleborn has had a taboo placed on it, it has become illegal to say even in the privacy of our own homes – at least, what remains of them. This leader has killed at least half of our friends, most of our parents, our teachers, and damaged us in ways that we are too scared to think about." Cho took another step forward and placed an instrument on the desk between them, "I do hope, Professor, that you will forgive me for using Arianna's name as a way of understanding the situation back in the Great Hall."

At this, Dumbledore deftly picked up the silver hand piece before Dippet could lean forward. "Miss Chang, am I correct in assuming this is my Deluminator?" He questioned, his blue gaze flickering between the girl in front of him and the scratched and well-worn metal of the Deluminator in his hand, a twin to the almost brand new instrument, which currently sat in his desk.

"Yes, sir. You left it to a friend in your will, and our friend gave it to me with the idea that it might help again one day."

Hermione continued to stay towards the edge of the meeting, unsure of herself, unsure of her surroundings, and with no way of adding to the conversation.

"Sir," Cho continued, "I wonder if we are able to keep the Deluminator with us? Considering we didn't not plan to travel so far at such short notice, we do not have anything of our own from our own time."

"Of course," Dumbledore's younger self agreed, leaning forward to place the item back in her hands, "Although, I do wonder what year your own time is?"

"1997," Astoria sighed, her face finding itself in the palm of her uninjured hand, "Those two were supposed to be in their seventh year at Hogwarts, I was in my fifth year... except its been over run with Death Eaters. The students who did return shouldn't have."

"Would you like to continue on with your respective years here?" Dippet chipped in, leaning forward in his chair and smiling largely at the girls as if he had given them an offer they couldn't refuse, "You may have full access to the library so that you can research how to get home whilst finishing your education."

"Professor, we woul- " Cho stopped abruptly at Hermione moving in to grasp the girls wrist tightly with her shackled hand.

"Hermione?" Astoria asked, leaning around in her chair without knocking her strapped arm. Hermione placed her hand out, palm up, at Cho with a pleading look written on her face. Very slowly, Cho pulled out her wand from a coat pocket and placed it in her proffered hand, wincing at the loss of such an important lifeline.

At that, Hermione turned around, swapped the wand into her right hand and lifted it into the air, writing ' _Sixth Year_ ' before turning back around to face the girls and both professors.

"Sixth year, Hermione?" Cho asked, "Why would we want to drop down a year?"

' _Better access to Lord.'_

"Miss Granger, is there a Lord here at Hogwarts who can help you? At Hogwarts?" Dumbledore enquired.

His question was met with a blank stare from Hermione, Dippet leaned forward again in anticipation of an answer. She turned around again.

' _More time for research. Better knowledge of where he could be at now.'_ Cho nodded slightly, her eyes brushing over Astoria before looking to Dumbledore again.

"I'm happy to remain in my fifth year." Astoria murmured.

"We need to continue our education, research any and all methods on how to get home, and pinpoint where the Lord could be. Is sixth year sufficient for us to be placed into?"

"I fail to see why not," Dippet said, summoning the Sorting Hat to sit between the five occupants of the room on Dumbledore's desk, "However I must insist that you be sorted into your respective houses. After such an entrance to the school, I doubt you would prefer to have your sorting take place in front of the school?"

All three girls shook their head. Although it would appear less suspicious if they were properly sorted, it would have been much more accommodating to all be placed in the same house.

Dumbledore motioned to the Sorting Hat as he picked it up and stood to move around the side of his desk, "Miss Chang?" Cho stood tall, ignoring her aching left foot so that she could shuffle forward under the Hat.

 _"_ _You have ambition, hard working and you don't want to quit. Tell me, if you saw him lying on the ground dead, what would you do?"_ The Hat asked, conjuring an image of Cedric lying on the ground, blood pumping out of his neck and into the grass.

 _"_ _Cedric is already dead. I'd leave him there."_ Cho answered, remembering too many familiar faces lying amongst rubble, in the snow, falling into water never to resurface and more, and being told countless times that those who fell would try and be recovered later, when it was safer, but there was no point in risking yourself to get dead bodies out of a warzone.

"Slytherin!" The Hat shouted, shocking every occupant in the room. Cho snatched the Sorting Hat off her head and shoved it towards Dumbledore, pushing all the air in her body out of her nose rather loudly before crossing her arms and standing back in her original stance. Dumbledore shifted slightly to his right and tried to dispel the sudden tension in the room by smiling at Astoria.

"Lets do this." She grumbled, ignoring the smile and bowing her head slightly as memories of the Slytherin common room flooded her mind. How she missed the simplicity of those years.

 _"_ _You left rather unwillingly,"_ the Hat started, resulting in a snort from Astoria, _"because you cared greatly for your people but didn't quite believe like they did. If it was for something different to blood purity that they worked towards, something that you believed in, would you have remained, no matter the suffering that they continued to put you through?"_

 _"_ _Yes."_

The Sorting Hat stopped moving momentarily, before bowing down and letting out a shout of "Hufflepuff!"

This time, only the three girls were stunned. Dumbledore was still smiling when Astoria saw his face after having the Hat lifted off her head.

"For fuck's sake." She heard Cho sigh, for the second time that night, "This whole night is just going downhill."

Dumbledore silently moved past the two girls who had already been sorted and towards Hermione, slowly lifting the Hat for the last time that night. Hermione's breath came in quick bursts, what if she got placed in Slytherin like Cho? The exact opposite of her own Hogwarts days that she was so fond of, just like Astoria? Was this a mistake? To immerse themselves within Hogwarts and potentially change everything?

 _"_ _Mmm, Miss Granger."_ She shuddered as he pulled out memories and sorted through recent happenings in her life. The hiding. The Horcruxes. The capture. The beatings. The dead friends. _"You've fought hard. If this were to happen all over again, what would you change?"_

Hermione shuddered again before straightening her shoulders. " _I'd fight harder."_

She felt the hat twist itself tighter around her head before relaxing again, curiously feeling like some sort of hug, and "Gryffindor!" broke the silence of the room. Hermione balled her right hand and flexed it again, missing her wand, as Dumbledore removed the Hat and sat it back down on his desk.

"Now," He said, turning to face the three sixth years, "How about we see to your injuries, hmm?


	3. Malfoy Manor

It's funny how life sometimes seems predetermined.

Like, you will grow up first crawling, then walking, then running. You'll learn to write at school, then go to high school, then maybe university too, if you work hard enough. Most of the time you even meet someone, start talking, slowly fall in love and possibly get married.

It's all a combination of steps and processes that are laid out for you to follow, because otherwise, how else will you know what to do next? Would you not just get lost in this massive expanse of knowledge and wonder that makes up the world, and feel so small against the tides that are pulling you in every direction that you just don't make choices? You don't do anything because how will you know that it is what you're supposed to do?

Maybe that is why everything feels predetermined.

It had felt that way for a long time for Hermione. She couldn't quite pinpoint exactly when it stopped feeling like that though – when they first ran into the snatchers? Or was it lying on Malfoy's drawing room floor, covered in her own blood?

No, even that felt predetermined. She was the weak link, after all. The Mudblood who would surely crack and talk under pressure, with the boys kept away to make her panic - feel alone, feel helpless. She hadn't cracked, even when it came to screaming her throat to shreds and clawing marks into the wooden flaw with her fingernails. Still, although she couldn't pinpoint when everything stopped feeling predetermined, she knew she would not leave Malfoy Manor both alive and sane again with the disappearance of Harry and Ron with Dobby.

They had of course gone all out Gryffindor in an attempt to rescue her from the insane torture of Bellatrix Lestrange, but it hadn't worked. A stray curse here, a fallen bookshelf there, and Ron was lying on the ground and bleeding from his head while Harry had lost his glasses from being sideswiped and blown into a table.

Maybe that was where life was no longer predetermined.

Despair crept into her head after that, a sticky, viscous feeling that dragged her down and made her stay there. In fact, it didn't happen over a great amount of time – not after the four days without eating, or the week where various Death Eaters would come in at any time of the day to try new curses on her, only to heal her enough to survive. It definitely wasn't after she talked to Malfoy.

"I never liked you, you know." She had croaked, feeling him prod his wand against a festering wound on her side. He had ignored her for a great amount of time before muttering,

"I know."

"Why stay a Death Eater?" He had stood up abruptly, festering wound now clean, and a piece of bread pushed under her hand.

"I don't know."

No, it wasn't after that.

The despair had appeared immediately after Dobby had disapparated, cutting off Harry's cry of "No, Dob-!"

She had lain there, immediately consumed by the knowledge that her fate had been sealed and, no matter how hard she tried, there would be no changing it. It was predetermined, after all.

She had no idea how long she had been in Malfoy Manor, assuming that she had been kept there and not moved to another hideout whilst unconscious. In her pretty little dungeon cell, which held nothing but herself and a few dreary looking shackles pinned to one wall, she was suspended in consistent greyness – no light, no dark, daytime, night time, rain, hail or shine. It was all the same, and unfortunately that meant no concept of time passing. Any time she wasn't experiencing pain or unconscious, she would spend sleeping.

Time goes faster when you're sleeping. You don't feel so hungry when you're asleep.

And so, the injuries started piling up. Of course, after any incredibly malicious beatings she was healed, but Hermione was still aware that both her legs had been broken at least three times, her left Femur once, all of the larger bones of her left hand had been pulled out after her finger nails had been ripped off, and she had been crucioed enough times now that both her shoulders dislocated quite easily due to being shackled to the wall during these particularly festive playtimes. She knew her eyesight would be poor now too, for however long she would live.

"Don't look at me Mudblood!" A voice had screamed at her from behind a mask. It was a woman, which had surprised Hermione, every other person to enter her cell so far had been a man, using the breaks between their torturous ways to touch her in places no person had ever touched her before.

"I mean it, you fucking piece of scum!" More pain had come then, but not where she was expecting. This Death Eater had been increasing and decreasing her body temperatures to extremes, without a slow transition in between them. More so, for no certain amount of time, she felt like her body was shutting down to withdraw from the cold and then suddenly it was if the entire room was on fire. That was what she had been expecting. She had not been expecting the dungeon cell to be pitched into complete darkness, her eyes to feel like they were melting in their sockets. She had no control over them either – Hermione knew her eyes were open, but as hard as she tried, she couldn't feel them move to 'look' to the left, or right, or any which way she wanted. Even closing her eyelids became difficult, although they remained drooped and dilapidated.

Throughout her screaming she had felt her body temperature slowly begin to settle, and a piece of cloth swish past her. Clothing? The Death Eater wouldn't get this close, surely.

No, the Death Eater had left. Only releasing Hermione from her shackles after the cell door had once again closed. Hermione had fallen in a heap on the floor, layering more dirt onto any piece of skin that had been covered in sweat. Slowly raising her head, Hermione lifted her right hand to her face and closed both her eyes; there was no point in keeping them open if she could no longer see.

Groaning, she pushed up to a kneeling position, feeling every sore muscle, every crack in a joint and cut in her skin. Leaning back she had felt the wall behind her, where she had just been strung up, and an idea lit her brain alight.

If she couldn't count the days she was in here for, she would count the tortures. Swiveling around, she groped the wall to find one of the shackles that dangled a little lower than the others, using her fingers to memorise it's surface and edges, looking for something that would be sharp enough to leave a mark on the wall.

Thinking back to her broken legs, her dislocated shoulders and everything right up to losing her eye sight just now, she began to scratch at the wall.

Thirty eight. For crushing both her knee caps. She screamed.

Seventy one. For vanishing her teeth and replacing them with shards of glass for three days. Screaming only made things worse.

Ninety two. For forcing a vile potion down her throat which made her feel like she was drowning for hours on end. Screaming was impossible.

Ninety nine. Lashings. Muggle, brutal, unforgiving lashings. Screaming was possible. Until fingers wrapped themselves around her neck so hard that she could hardly breathe let alone make any noise. The lashings continued.

Quite ironic that they had come for her before she reached one hundred – Hermione had been looking forward to rounding off her tortures with a nice even number and be able to say that, although she lived in fear, pain and hunger, she remained relatively sane.

The noise had woken her up, and while it had happened before, what with the constant work of a dark and twisted madman going on around her, Hermione hardly felt the need to take notice. Except for the fact that it was yet again a woman's voice this time calling her name.

"Hermione!" A shudder ran through the foundations of the building as the door to the dungeons was blown apart. Footsteps sounded nearby, but more than one pair – had they found her?

"She's in there, right!" A gruff voice snarled, panting just outside her door. No. No one had come for her, that was Antonin Dolohov, just one of the many sick men she had been forced to encounter in her time here. "Now you let her go!"

"I don't think I will, thank you. She's been most helpful to our endeavors." Hermione pressed herself up against the markings she had made on the far wall as she heard a figure slump to the floor, unable to squash herself into the corner because of her wrist still chained to one of the shackles hanging up. She laughed quietly, not believing that it was Dolohov that had been the one to string her up in the first place.

"Open it." Hermione heard a voice say, before a murmur swung the door open in front of her. She kept still, she kept quiet, she had no idea who this person was or what they wanted. Footsteps rushed towards her.

"Hermione, come on. We've only got a little time left before their reinforcements come." Hermione could feel the breath of the other woman blowing against her face, but she couldn't reply. "Hermione, can you walk?"

She felt a hand try and pull her unshackled arm around a set of shoulders to help lift her up, but even if she wasn't chained to the wall, she could sense the hesitation to be touched by the other person. This was a ploy! Just another head game, to crush her when she realised that no one was really here to save her. She shuddered and withdrew her arm, folding herself back against the wall.

"What is it? Are you in pain?"

"Of course she's in pain, you dolt." Another woman spoke; this must have been the one being held captive. "Are you even looking at her? I can guarantee she's not looking at you. Her eyesight is completely fucked."

"She can't see? Since when?" The voice sounded worried. They were trying really hard this time to make it seem real.

"Since Pansy decided to have some fun, but couldn't cope with it all and went overboard." Ah, Pansy. And here Hermione was, thinking that their hate-hate relationship could never get any worse.

"Hermione, it's Cho." Cho? Why was it only her to come and save her? "Nearly the entire Order are upstairs right now, trying to take out as many as they can while I get you. Ginny was meant to come too, but she was… busy. I'm going to try and help you to see, ok?" Hermione felt a wand tip prod against her skin under her left eye and stiffened, before a murmur brought a flash before Hermione's eyes. She blew out a long held breath as her eyes felt like they were draining – in fact, tears were streaming down her cheeks as she blinked and Cho's blurry face swam into view. Hermione furrowed her brows, they managed to screw up Cho's face this time too, just like last time they had tried to trick her. Lifting a hand up to her own face to trace an imitation of the gashes on Cho's cheek, Hermione wondered how much she had changed whilst being imprisoned. Then again, she was lucky to be alive rather than feeling morose about if she looked horrible.

"I can thank Fenrir for that." Cho's voice came again. "Got me before I found Astoria just now."

Her mouth screwed down into a grimace, catching Hermione's hand again to put over her shoulder and lift her up, until being caught by the other shackle on her left wrist.

"Astoria, can't you do something about that? We're on a bit of a tight time schedule, you know." Cho said tightly.

"I –I'm not sure I can. Only the person who strung her up can undo it."

"You said it was Dolohov! He's dead! Why has it not come undone automatically?"

Astoria lifted her wand and Hermione shrunk into herself instinctively as she sent a cutting hex at the bolts holding the chain to the wall.

"That's the best I can do."

"Good enough for me. Let's go Hermione." Cho ordered, her face becoming determined as she turned towards the door, holding Hermione tightly around her waist. "Astoria, you're coming too. Don't forget what you have to do to Hermione."

Do to her? What did she mean? Hermione started wriggling out of Cho's arms in a fury, landing on the ground and crawling back to the wall. They had only tortured her in here, she didn't want to be tortured anywhere else! Not in front of people or laughed at while she was partially naked and writhing on the floor in pain.

"They did this to her once. Made her think she was being rescued to try and break her."

"Fuck." Cho swore, untying her jacket to reach into a pocket. "Hermione, can you hold onto this for me? To keep it safe when we escape?" She drew out Dumbledore's Deluminator, which elicited a gasp from the girl. Hermione reached forward and touched it, absently remembering seeing Ron's hands grasped around it at one point. Seeing this as a positive reaction, Cho reached down and helped Hermione up, yet again, while she was fixated on the Deluminator.

"Ok, outside in the hall we can Apparate out, but the dungeons are on lockdown full time so no one can escape." Hermione briefly heard Astoria telling Cho, as they shuffled towards the stairs and climbed them slowly.

"As soon as we open the door and step out, we're Apparating. Ok?" Cho said to Hermione, and then turned to Astoria. "All of us."

Astoria nodded, reaching forward to tug the door open.

It was absolute bedlam. Cho hadn't been joking when she said nearly the entirety of the Order had shown up to fight, as there were spells flying everywhere. Bodies from both sides were strewn around haphazardly, along with pieces of broken furniture and chunks of stone from the walls. A chandelier was lying on the ground off in the distance. What caught Hermione's eye, however, was the shock of red hair before her. Ginny noticed her stepping out of the doorway and turned, smiling, just as a stray curse flew over Anthony Goldstein and into the side of Ginny's head, as effective as a bullet. Hermione tried to throw herself forward before being snatched back by the collar by Cho.

"We have to leave. We have to go now." She whispered frantically into Hermione's ear. Ginny was as good as dead. She had gone, she had already left. Wasn't it meant to end that way for her? To never leave Malfoy Manor both alive and sane? It hardly seemed fair – they had been fighting for their lives for so long, and Hermione hadn't even seen Ginny for so long, only for her to die now. For Hermione to watch her die, just because she was happy to see her again. It was all her fault. This was not predetermined, this was cruel, and because of her mistakes and Voldemort's evil scheming, Ginny had died far too soon.

So, as Cho held onto Hermione and Astoria to Apparate back to wherever she came from, all Hermione could think about was destroying Voldemort before he could destroy so many lives.

She clicked the Deluminator open as they were whisked away into nothing.


End file.
